


She's a Runner, Rebel, And a Stunner

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t hold us down!” a deep voice shouts from inside the cell and Santana just rolls her eyes, wondering for the fifth time today, why she evenbecame a cop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's a Runner, Rebel, And a Stunner

“You can’t hold us down!” a deep voice shouts from inside the cell and Santana just rolls her eyes, wondering for the fifth time today, why she even _became_  a cop.

And she  _swears_  to God, if someone starts another  _Hell No, we won’t go_! chant, she’s going to lose it.

She slams her night stick against her metal desk loudly. “Shut up in there!”

“Make us!” comes the response.

She’d like to make them, she really would. But there are rules and protocols and she’s already disappointed her mother by becoming a cop; if she “accidentally” killed someone she’d probably be disowned. She flirts with the idea a little more, because her mother disowning her is an interesting thought.

But no.

Killing people is wrong.

Killing  _hippies_ would get her the electric chair.

So she lifts her feet off the chair she’s propped them up on and glides towards the cages. “If I have to come in there and  _make you_ , you won’t be saying _anything_ ,” she growls into the dark cell.

A different voice – still slightly deep, but decidedly softer – filters through the bars again. “Police brutality; write that down Rachel.”

She wonders who the hell  _Rachel_  is and how she’s writing  _anything_  down.

Puck was supposed to search the “noise-makers” when he brought them, but he was also supposed to pay his ex child support last month and write those reports that have been stacking up on his desk for  _months_  now and he was supposed to pick her up a donut on his way into work yesterday.

Puck is supposed to do a lot of things, and she finds it oddly comforting that he consistently does none of them.

“I’m going to have to ask you to hand me that pen and pad. Rachel,” she adds awkwardly after a pause.

“You’ll have to kill us first,” someone  _not_  the first voice says. “Go ahead: Make. My. Day.”

“Shut up Mercedes,” the second voice commands. There’s an indignant squeak, followed by silence. “But like the lady said, you’ll have to kill us first,” it continues.

She frowns and shines her flashlight into the cell –  _get the lights fixed_ , she notes mentally – and takes a little pleasure in the way the hippies in their flowers and peace signs flinch at the light. “Aren’t you guys all about  _not_  killing.”

“Yeah. But we’re all for making a sacrifice too,”  _another_  voice answers. “You can take Rachel.”

“Hey!” Someone – Rachel – shouts, and she swings the light around to the sound, landing on a short woman with a yellow flower-printed shirt on. She cowers slightly under the light and she can see the pencil in her hand – damn Puck – shaking. “Quinn!”

Quinn, as Santana swings the light around again, is standing in the corner of the cell, with pin-straight hair held back by a string of flowers, arms folded over her chest. She shrugs. “Only the strong survive.”

 _Well,_ she thinks to herself.  _At least_ one _of them is normal._

“Hey, you,” she points her nightstick at the Quinn one and beckons her forward. “C’me here. And bring that pencil and pad with you.”

Santana notes with satisfaction that Quinn just shrugs again, tugs the notebook out of Rachel’s hands and passes it through the bars. There’s another indignant squeak and you’re  _already_  tired of this Mercedes chick, whoever she is. From the sighs she hears, everyone else is tired of Mercedes too.

“Who’s in charge?” she asks, peering through the bars again.

Quinn shrugs and Santana can’t help but wonder if that’s all she’s good at.

“I am,” the deep voice in the back proclaims, moving closer until the short brunette man it belongs to is almost fused with the metal of the bars. “Have you got a proposition for us? Because,” he pauses and runs his hands through his hair, smirking up at her.

Santana’s not impressed.

“ _Because_ ,” he continues. “We  _could_  give you Rachel, if you wanted her.”

“ _Jesse_ ,” Rachel hisses.

_These are the worst hippies in the whole world._

“You guys are the worst hippies in the whole world,” she says, echoing her thoughts. “Aren’t you kooks all non-violence and stick-together types?”

“Hey, Lopez!” Puck shouts from the front room. She turns to look at him and he’s just standing there with a donut bag in his hand and a hooker in the other. “Caught her with a john out on Boardwalk; picked you up some donuts on the way in.”

He smirks when that squeaker, Mercedes, shouts  _pig_.

Santana nods and grins along with him. “Hey Tina,” she calls out to the hooker. Tina smiles and curls her body deeper into Puck’s.

“Hey there Santana, whatcha up to?” the brunette asks in a voice Santana can only as describe as sin wrapped in silk. “Got any itches?”

She blanches – thank God it’s dark – and Puck titters loudly.

“Not tonight Tina,” and behind her she can hear someone punch someone else, and then Quinn whispers something she doesn’t catch. “What was that?”

Quinn shrugs again. “I didn’t say anything. But,” she adds dramatically, purely for dramatics sake. “If you needed to, uh, get off, we wouldn’t mind being let go before you did that.”

“Alright, back up,” Puck comes brushing past her, wielding his nightstick the way she watched that Skywalker crackhead use it in that movie Puck dragged her to go see. “I said,  _back it up_ ,” he repeats loudly. “Back it up girlie, or you’re going to lose that finger.”

Rachel’s hand is hanging out of the cell, like a white flag in the dark night.

“For God’s sake, Rachel,” someone in the back – the soft, deep voice from before – admonishes. “Just back up.”

The person, whoever it is, sounds sane, and she has to get a statement so without really thinking more about it, she’s unlocking the door and waving the mystery voice out of the dark and into the light of the bullpen. A woman –  _not_  what she was expecting – saunters out of the dark and sways into the light of the bullpen. Possibly the  _most_  gorgeous woman she’s ever seen is gliding out of the dark and into the light, asking what desk she should sit at.

“You,” she directs, turning back to the cell, “stay put.”

“Yeah, because we’re really going somewhere,” Quinn mutters, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to sleep.”

Santana ignores them and turns back to the woman at her desk, pointing her nightstick in the direction of the interview rooms. “We can use that room over there.”

The blond, taller than Santana, gives something that looks like a smile and practically floats towards the side room. Santana follows, slapping her nightstick down on Puck’s desk when his eyes follow the hippies movement. He looks up at her, not startled, and smirks unapologetically.

“What’s your name?” is the first question she asks as the door shuts.

The blond crosses her arms over her chest. “Brittany.”

“Brittany what?”

“What’s it matter?”

Santana lifts an eyebrow and scribbles  _uncooperative_  on her notepad.

“What are we even here for?”

“Disturbing the peace.”

Brittany laughs, hard and loud. Santana flinches at the noise, because she wasn’t expecting it, and the pen skitters across the page, a dark line through her notes. She can’t submit these in her report anyway:  _gorgeous blond_  is probably not an apt description, really. Santana looks up, scowling, but Brittany is still smiling, her laugh tapering off.

“Listen,” Brittany starts seriously. “Disturbing the peace? That’s bogus. And lame. Can’t you think up something a little more…”

“Criminal?” Santana suggests, thoughtfully chewing on the end of her pencil.

Brittany smiles, slow and easy in a way that makes Santana forget to bite down on the pencil and it almost touches the back of her throat before she coughs hard, covering her blush with her hand over her mouth.

“Criminal,” Brittany repeats. She shifts forward in her seat that’s not quite across the table and her bare knees brush against the rough polyester of Santana’s uniform, the sound a loud whisper in the small room. “Now that doesn’t sound lame. It actually sounds kind of sexy.”

Santana swallows heavily. “Dangerous, too.”

The blond rolls her eyes and it’s anything  _but_  dangerous. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, charmer,” she teases.

So Santana steels her shoulders a little and tries for cool, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back, leering down at Brittany over the bridge of her nose. “Here’s how this is gonna work.”

Brittany smirks, only briefly, before setting her mouth in a thin line, nodding seriously, but Santana can see that she’s fidgeting in her seat, like this is just a game.

“I’m going to charge you with ‘disturbing the peace’. It’s a misdemeanor, but it’s on your permanent record-”

“So I’m still a badass,” Brittany says smugly.

Santana frowns but nods. “Yeah, badass.” She gives Brittany a look and pauses for a second before beginning again. “ _Anyway_ , since none of you wanted to talk earlier, I’m only charging you. You’re going to have to stick around for booking, but the rest of them are free to go.”

She looks up, ready to smile proudly, but Brittany is leaning closer, biting her bottom lip, her hand moving from her own sundressed thigh to Santana’s. Santana swallows heavily, but doesn’t move away. She should, because there’s a one-way mirror in this room and Puck can only entertain himself with Tina, or any of the other hippies for so long before he gets curious and comes to see what’s taking so long. But Brittany has long eyelashes and a slow smile and Santana has always been weak in the knees when it comes to girls in general, but girls like Brittany, with their confidence and their little touches make her pull at her collar, hoping to cool down.

She doesn’t even get her hand halfway to the polyester around her throat because Brittany is pulling it out of the air and lacing their fingers together. “Booking, huh?”

Santana nods and uses her free hand to doodle around the edges of her notepad – and really, she’s going to have to redo this entire report later – and Brittany scoots a little closer, practically in Santana’s lap now, and maybe it’s not the best time to look up, but she does and her mouth brushes against Brittany’s lip.

“That’s-”

Brittany smirks against her and pulls back before leaning in again, pressing harder against Santana’s mouth. The metal of her pencil eraser bounces lightly against the table top as she drops it, threading her fingers through Brittany’s hair, meshing flower and blond together in her tan hand and Brittany isn’t even in her seat anymore; she’s on the very edge of Santana’s knees, one arm wrapped around Santana’s neck, her other still caught in Santana’s hand.

Santana pulls back this time, taking a deep breath and moving her hand – which glided out of Brittany’s hair down her back – around to her own lap, fingering the edge of Brittany’s sundress.

“Assault,” she barely whispers against Brittany’s jaw. “That’s assaulting an officer.”

She can’t see Brittany’s smile, but she can feel it against her cheekbone. “I’m a regular day Bonnie, huh?”

The reference takes a moment but then she sighs. “Let’s hope you don’t end up like her, too.”

Brittany slides off her lap into her own chair, mockingly serious, holding her hands out in front of her.

“I’m not putting handcuffs on you.”

Brittany pouts, but stands up anyway, crossing her hands behind her back and sure, Santana can do that much. She wraps one hand around two slender wrists and throws open the door to the interview room. Puck sits up at his desk so fast that Tina, each of her feet on the sides of his chair, pitches forward violently.

From inside the cell she hears a snicker she can identify as Quinn’s.

Santana rolls her eyes dramatically and motions towards the holding cell. “Let those jokers go. I’ve got to go book this on for assault, and for God’s sake, Tina, stay off the corner.”

Tina smiles sweetly at her. “I can’t help how I get my money, doll.”

Puck shuffles the rest of the hippies out and they pass by where she’s standing, sending her dirty looks and simultaneously whimpering in Brittany’s direction.

The one they called Rachel stalks by them with her head held high and turns at the last second, hissing “ _pig”_  under her breath before running out the door.

She growls and almost follows; her hand already on her nightstick, but Brittany is beaming at her and Puck is already focusing on Tina again, and this town is so small that the booking station is actually a closet in the back of the station with a door that  _locks_.

Maybe she'll wait until tomorrow to plan her assault on the hippies.


End file.
